A word slips through my mind. It’s a word my French grandmother used when she was torn in a decision. She used to tell me that often there was a moiety when making a choice; even when one option is clearly better than the other, sometimes there is one piece of the less favorable alternative that is smaller but confusing the situation nonetheless…
How could I still feel torn by leaving?
Yes, physically I have responded to him like nothing I’d experienced before. In that regard I suppose it makes sense. But is there more?
As I shove clothes into my backpack I know I shouldn’t be taking the time to consider all of this, but my mind won’t stop. I don’t have long before he’ll be back. My escape needs all my attention. Doubting my decision now could be disastrous.
Yet my hand pauses with my shorts in its grip, hovering over the opening to my bag.
For a time he seemed to honestly love me. Actually, he often treated me like a princess, catering to my every need. The tenderness in his touch, the gentle brush of his lips…how could these not be signs of true affection?
I shake my head trying to bring myself back to reality. It wasn’t love. Someone who loves you doesn’t manipulate you, doesn’t control you. It took me a long time to see what he was doing, being blinded by his charm. But looking back his domination over me was absolute. He has barely left my side in almost three months.
Sure, it sounds sweet, sounds like he’s completely devoted…but a healthy relationship doesn’t exclude everyone else. Were this truly love I would still be permitted to spend time with my friends, to do the things I like to do without him.
Let’s face it; this goes far beyond “unhealthy.” Why am I thinking about this as if the issues were somehow normal? He has done everything he can to keep me here with him; well, everything short of tying me to the bed which is why I need to leave while I am able.
Maybe it’s Stockholm syndrome? I do feel for him in a way. He has such a sad lost look when I talk about doing something without him. I do understand his pain, his fear that I might leave and not come back. Isn’t that what I’m about to do?
Suddenly the front door slams and my heart stops. I’m too late. I’ve missed my opportunity and I might never have another one.
This post is in response to the daily writing prompt Moiety and is part of something longer I am working on.